


Sympathy for the Devil

by Brumeier



Series: Killer Instinct [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Episode Titles prompt:any fandom - any character - secrets and lies (Criminal minds)In which Rodney tries to dig a little deeper into John's past and John is not appreciative.





	Sympathy for the Devil

To anyone not looking closely, Rodney being in Tennessee was the result of random case assignment and nothing more. In reality, it came about after weeks of meticulous planning, the deft manipulation of paperwork, and a fortuitous case of food poisoning that took the lead agent out of the game for a couple of days.

The case itself was easily solved, any idiot could have put the pieces together. Rodney let Dominguez take the credit, an uncharacteristic move on his part. He had bigger fish to fry. So while his temporary partner shared celebratory beers with local law enforcement, Rodney feigned a headache and went to see David Sheppard.

Harmony Acres was an assisted living facility that operated more like a group home. It had well-tended green lawns, vegetable gardens, even a stable with horses; all of it shadowed in dusk. The residents, all of them with mental disabilities, lived in small apartments and were looked after by a staff of counselors, nurses, doctors and aides. Rodney imagined all that came with a pretty hefty price tag.

“You don’t have an appointment,” the facilities director said. He was a pleasant enough guy, shorter than Rodney and more muscled, but getting past him wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’m well aware of that,” Rodney replied. He flashed his badge. “I’m here on unofficial FBI business, and I only need a moment of Mr. Sheppard’s time.”

The guy crossed his arms. He was wearing an ID badge clipped to a lanyard, but all it said was Lorne. Rodney didn’t know if that was his first or last name. “You haven’t been cleared. Perhaps you should come back on _official_ business with the proper authorization.”

Getting past Lorne was going to be more trouble than it was worth. Rodney could’ve pressed the issue but he didn’t want anyone calling the home office to check out his story. There couldn’t be a trail leading from him to John, not even a tenuous one.

“Perhaps I will,” Rodney snapped. He turned and left, back for the rental car.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to get out of meeting John’s brother anyway. He already knew from his clandestine investigation that David Sheppard had suffered brain damage as the result of hypoxia. The story at the time had been that he’d gotten tangled up with the cords on the venetian blinds, a regrettable accident. Rodney suspected otherwise.

_My father died before I could kill him. He was an evil man._

It was full dark by the time Rodney got to his second destination. He pulled a flashlight out of the bag in the trunk and made a circuit of the old Sheppard family home. 

According to the research, Patrick Sheppard had been a very successful, very wealthy financier. The expansive house and grounds bore that out, though it had since fallen into ruin: the lawns were overgrown, the roof on the wide front porch was half-collapsed, and most of the windows were broken. It was particularly creepy at night, with the wind scraping the bushes against the side of the house.

Rodney didn’t dare try to get inside – rotten floorboards were broken legs and tetanus waiting to happen – but he’d seen pictures of the interior from when the house was featured in a magazine spread from the early 80s. He tried to imagine what it had been like for John to grow up there, surrounded by wealth but forced to live with a monster. 

Had there been any joy in young John’s life?

Childhood hadn’t been great for Rodney, but nowhere near the level of shit that John had dealt with. Rodney’s parents hadn’t been physically abusive. They’d argued with each other constantly, used their children as pawns in their petty disputes, but never made them fear for their lives.

There was no doubt in Rodney’s mind that John’s life would’ve turned out much differently if he’d had parents that loved him, cared for him. Then again, if John had been a normal guy leading a normal life then Rodney would never have met him. He wasn’t sure what he felt about that.

He wasn’t going to find any answers within the shell of a dead house. Rodney turned and nearly jumped out of his skin when the flashlight beam hit John right in the face.

“John!” Rodney’s heart was slamming in his chest, and he was hit with a bolt of guilt. “Uh…what are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” John countered, his tone icy and full of controlled rage.

Rodney had to force himself not to step back. “I was, uh…”

“You’re trespassing.” John took a step forward, but Rodney held his ground. “Poking around where you don’t belong. Would you like it if I paid Jeannie a visit?”

“I’m just trying to understand,” Rodney said. 

His sister’s name coming from John’s mouth had been unexpectedly chilling, and Rodney wondered again what the hell he thought he was playing at. John was dangerous. John around Jeannie was unthinkable. And yet, even with fury written so clearly on John’s face, Rodney knew he couldn’t walk away. Because John was also a puzzle; he was a textbook psychopath, except when he wasn’t. He didn’t fit neatly into any of the psychological boxes.

_You can’t label me that easily, Special Agent. I can’t be pigeon-holed._

“Understand that I’m the one in control here, not you.”

“And yet you’re the one going where I tell you,” Rodney heard himself say.

In an instant John was in his personal space, his hand grasping Rodney’s jaw in a vice-like grip. “I could kill you right now.”

“But you won’t,” Rodney gasped. He was almost sure that was true. “You don’t kill innocent people.”

“You’re not innocent,” John said. 

And then he was kissing Rodney, all teeth and bruising pressure. Rodney, god help him, didn’t fight the onslaught. Because it was true. He was sending men to their deaths, which didn’t make him a hero. He wasn’t even hero-adjacent. Whatever punishment John wanted to dole out, Rodney would take it because he deserved it.

He _wanted_ it.

And deep down he felt John wasn’t operating without a moral compass, regardless of what his actions might indicate to the contrary. He was twisted, most certainly, but Rodney didn’t think he’d been born that way. It was circumstance. The cruel hand of fate.

_I don’t like it, but it’s work that has to be done._

John pulled back and rested his forehead against Rodney’s, his breathing ragged in Rodney’s ear. “You can’t just take it. If I want you to have it I’ll give it to you.”

Rodney found himself running his hand up and down John’s back, his head spinning at the rapid change of mood. Not for the first time he felt he was in a car careening towards a concrete wall at top speed.

There was no way things could end well for either of them.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** I’m pleased to report that I finally figured out how to end this series. So stay tuned, because the end is coming…eventually. ::grins::


End file.
